AN: Just a heads up this is extremely dark and angst filled
"The nights are cold…There's a blanket of gloom…Another teardrop falls… I said ain't no love In the heart of the city… Ain't no love in this great big old town… Ain't no love, ain't any pity"-Bobby Blue Bland
John felt an exhaustion that couldn't be cured by sleep. Everywhere he went in the city reminded him of her.
Every time he passed the diner his throat would close up. Every time he walked pass the precinct he would see faded visions of her coming and going. Taylor had moved away to go live with his father in Boston.
He would sometimes go to her house and break in just to try and feel closer to her, although he had to stop when a new family moved into the brownstone.
Every second he was awake he was haunted by her voice. Every time he closed his eyes he felt the softness of her lips from their first and last kiss.
He tried to bury himself into saving people but he couldn't. Every time he helped save a person whether they were a victim or perpetrator he seethed with bitterness and hate. Both at the number and at himself. What made them so special that they got to live while Joss died?
His anger was getting the best of him, to the point that he couldn't control himself. Their past number had been a spoiled little rich brat who tried to have his parents killed because they refused to buy him a new car.
He didn't even realize he pulled the trigger until Shaw hit him in the face. When he got his bearings the boy was on the floor clutching his shoulder crying.
John finished off the rest of his Whiskey and sat down on the empty subway car. As he looked around he noticed that it was the same subway car that he beat up those punks on. It was the same place where it all inadvertently started.
He was sorry he knew she wouldn't want him to do this but he couldn't make it anymore. He tried his best to hold on but sometimes your best just wasn't good enough.
He pulled the clip out of his gun and then loaded it with the single bullet that he had held onto for long enough.
Agent Smith walked into the county morgue with two other agents following her. She moved over to the body freezer and opened it and stared down at the body. Smith removed a picture from her jacket and held it up to the dead man's face. Once she confirmed the body's identity she had the other two agents bag his body up.
She watched as the two agents loaded his body into the back of a black Lincoln Navigator and drive off.
If her former mentor Snow was still alive he would be disappointed with the way Reese died. How pitiful, the man had made it to the top of the CIAs find and kill list just for him to go and kill himself.
Oh well that was how the story always ended for people like them. No happy endings or fairy tale conclusions. Snow and Reese were only the latest editions of dead bodies that littered the floor in the darkness.
Smith made her way back into the city to await her new orders. She didn't notice a man with a dog or a woman wearing black watching her.